A Season for Miracles
by LyricInTime2803
Summary: Christmas is supposed to be a season for miracles. But for an Angel of Death, the holiday can be anything but joyous, and even angels sometimes need a miracle. A/M ship, but minor.


**A Season for Miracles**

_By LyricInTime2803_

**Summary:** Christmas is supposed to be a season for miracles. But for an Angel of Death, the holiday can be anything but joyous, and even angels sometimes need a miracle. A/M ship, but minor.

**A/N:** Just my own attempt to work through feelings about the holidays. Not my best work, but figured I'd share. Leave a review, let me know what you think… and Happy (Belated) Holidays to everyone.

* * *

The crunch of snow beneath wet boots echoes through the night as a lone figure trudges through an empty park. Reaching a deserted bench, the man nearly collapses onto it, having no energy left to even brush away the snow that has collected on the seat. Already cold and wet, he no longer cares or even feels the snow soaking through his pants, which are soiled with dirt and blood.

Closing his tired green eyes, which are stinging and red tinged from tears and from the bitter winter wind, he lets out a long sigh and drops his head into his hands. Taking several deep breaths to calm himself, he runs his fingers through his blond hair that normally glistens like sunshine off of a field of golden wheat, but now hangs limply from his head, greasy and mussed as the rest of his exterior. Moving his hands to rub the back of his strained neck, he lets out another sigh, finally opening his eyes to take in the scene before him.

The bench he occupies sits before a large pond, its thick coat of ice glistening under the full moon. Surrounding the pond are several trees, their thick branches forming a canopy over the paths that snake throughout the park. The low branches of a tree directly behind the bench offer some protection from the wind, but also allow for the constant dripping from melting icicles to fall directly on the man's head.

But the tree that catches this man's eye stands across the pond. Taller than any of the other timber around it, the evergreen seems to reach all the way to the heavens. Multicolored lights shine out through the night, the hundreds of points of red, blue, green, and orange lights reflecting across the pond as if ice skating in the moonlight. Equally colorful glass bulbs adorn the branches, mixed with pine cones that have been placed strategically along its boughs and yards of sparkling garland that wrap around the limbs as if in an embrace. At the very top of the tapering trunk sits a silver star, shining out through the night sky as brightly as any of the real stars it symbolizes.

The tree had been decorated weeks ago by residents of the city. There had been carols and cocoa and laughter, followed by ice skating on this very pond and sledding down the surrounding hills. Holiday spirit had been thick in the air and all hopes and dreams of the season were placed on the tree with every ornament that was hung.

But the blond man, still rubbing his neck- partly from nervous habit and partly in an effort to release some of the residing tension- feels none of that cheer. Nor can he appreciate the beauty of the Christmas tree before him- yet he can't seem to tear his eyes from the star atop the tree that shines so brightly it can be seen from some of the taller buildings on the outskirts of the city. It reminds him of another star that once shone so brightly that it guided three men through the desert to witness a miracle on this very night over two thousand years ago.

Yes, Andrew had been there on that first Christmas. He had witnessed the miracle that was bestowed upon the earth in the form of a human child. For Andrew is an angel, a servant and a messenger of God. He has existed for thousands of years, and has served the Father in many different capacities. For the last few hundred years, he has worked as an Angel of Death, being with humans in their last moments of earthly life and escorting them Home into the arms of the Father. He has always enjoyed working for God, even as a younger angel when he held less glamorous positions. But he has always taken his role as an Angel of Death with a certain sense of pride. When he can bring a person Home at the end of a long and full life, or to be with someone to end the suffering after a long illness, has always filled him with joy. To know that his job is to reunite souls with the Creator and to spread the love and peace of the Father fills him with honor.

But there are days in the life of an Angel of Death that are not so joyous. Days when the horrors that human beings are capable of seem to outweigh the wonders.

Sighing again, Andrew wonders if it is just the timing that is making this whole situation worse. Two thousand years ago he stood, surrounded by God's love, witnessing the miracle that would save the human race. Now he sits, alone and defeated, wondering what kind of miracle it would take to save them today.

He knows that he shouldn't think this way. It's taking everything in him, but he does still love them. They are God's children, and it is not his place to judge. But tonight, he just doesn't have the energy left to stay positive. He has never felt so exhausted and weary- not only in his tired human form, but in spirit.

For the last few years, Andrew has worked as a caseworker, too, and he has enjoyed the arrangement immensely. Taking on cases offers a much needed break from the usual stresses of an Angel of Death, allowing him to get involved with an assignment's life earlier and more directly. It has also allowed him to spend most of his time in the company of Tess and Monica, his fellow angels and closest friends.

He has known Tess for centuries, and the older angel was as close to a mother to him as an angel could have. He's known Monica for a relatively short amount of time- only about a decade- but it had not taken the young angel long to embed herself in Andrew's heart. Monica is Tess's caseworker, and Andrew had met her when he'd gone to visit Tess on one of his days off. They had been in the middle of an assignment, and Monica had not appreciated his presence on her case or in her relationship with her supervisor. But while those first few days had been tumultuous, Monica and Andrew had worked through their differences and found in each other a relationship that went deeper than either angel had ever felt before, a matching of souls so perfect that it could only have been planned by the Father Himself.

It is Monica that Andrew wishes were here with him now. She has the ability to soothe away his troubles and warm his heart in a way that no other can. And Andrew's heart is certainly in need of warming right now.

This holiday season has been anything but joyous, and Angels of Death have been in great demand. His duties have always kept him busy, but the last few weeks have been hectic and draining, with no time to rest in between assignments. He has not been able to work with Tess or Monica in weeks, let alone see them. And while usually his cases are varied- some easy and heartwarming, others more difficult- it seems like all of his assignments lately have been heartbreaking. While it feels good to take someone Home when it is their time, it is always harder around the holidays. No one wants to lose a loved one- or even to leave loved ones behind- on Christmas.

Yet in just the past couple of weeks, Andrew must have taken over a hundred souls Home. Fires had claimed the lives of countless individuals when Christmas trees caught fire or electrical outlets were overloaded. Even more lives were lost in automobile accidents, whether due to icy conditions, road rage in congested holiday traffic, or through the irresponsible choices of those who got behind the wheel after consuming alcohol. There had been drive by shootings and random muggings, desperate people willing to take a life in exchange for a few stolen dollars. Many lives had ended while shopping for the holidays- some trampled in crowds that rushed the doors of the mall like a stampede of wildebeest on the African plains, others strangled by the hands of fellow shoppers so determined to get this year's hot items that they lost themselves in the frenzy. Andrew couldn't even get evenings off, as there had not been a single night that he didn't have to take the souls of several homeless humans to Heaven after they had frozen to death, alone on the cold streets.

The assignments just kept getting more and more tragic as humans succumbed to the self-imposed stresses of the holiday season. Husbands and parents took their frustrations out on their wives and children, abuse that was terrible to begin with turning fatal. Many people turned to drugs to end their pain, but ended their lives instead when they overdosed.

One of the most painful types of assignments for Andrew had always been suicides. It broke his ever compassionate heart to see someone in such terrible pain, feeling so hopeless and alone that they chose to give up on life. He, probably even more so than other angels, understands all too well that God has a perfect plan for every single life He places on Earth- a time to be born, a time to die, and a time for everything in between. To see a human end that life before the Father's plan has been fulfilled kills Andrew a little bit inside, too.

Yet he has had to work a number of suicides lately, and there wasn't a thing he could do to stop any of them, nothing he could say that would change their minds. While Christmas is supposed to be a time to spend with family, friends, and loved ones, sometimes it instead fosters alienation, and causes those already battling depression to sink even deeper into a black hole of despair that swallows all light and hope.

All these assignments had broken Andrew's heart, causing sorrow and grief to bleed through him. Only the knowledge that those hurting souls were now in the healing presence of the Father had allowed those bleeding wounds to clot.

Unfortunately, there were also assignments that ripped those scars open anew, and Andrew wasn't sure they would ever truly heal. Because while it hurt to take souls Home before their time, it was the times that he couldn't take them Home that were even more painful. Individuals who, even in the presence of an angel, refused to ask for the Father's forgiveness, or continued to deny His existence altogether. Souls who, given one last chance for redemption, chose instead an eternity of separation from God.

Andrew has just come from one such assignment, where he had given everything he had to make a young man see the light, so to speak. But that young man had refused to embrace God, and Andrew had been unable to take him Home.

Glancing again at the Christmas tree before him, something close to disappointment fills Andrew. Yes, the first Christmas had been wonderful and miraculous, but each anniversary since then had lost more and more of the wonder. It should be the greatest day of the year, a season for miracles. But Andrew hasn't seen any miracles lately, only pain and misery, and he is ready to give up on the holiday- and humans- altogether.

It may not be very angelic, he knows. But still, the contrast of idealized yuletide imagery against the dreary reality he has witnessed as of late is difficult for Andrew to process. Instead of Christmas carols and ringing bells, he has heard only shrill sirens and desperate screams. Instead of colorful lights and sparkling decorations, he's seen only blood and battered bodies. He's seen not the pristine snow covered houses with warmly lit windows, but dirty, dark back allies and gloomy rooftops. Where there should be eggnog and hot chocolate, cookies and turkey, there was instead alcohol and drugs. While he knows there should be family and friends laughing around the hearth, he's seen only loneliness, failed hope, and the loss of those who never made it home to be with their loved ones. Images in his mind swirl and mesh together- smiling children mix with faces filled with pain and anguish; toys and presents versus guns and knives. The juxtaposition brings fresh tears to his eyes- the peace and love against the horror and misery.

Turning his eyes heavenward, he lets out a sob, and a prayer. "Please, don't make me go back out there." Inhaling, he shakes his head, and starts again. "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean it. Your will be done, always. And I'm happy to help stop the pain and take those souls Home… But there is so much pain, Father, and tragedy! I'm sorry that I'm judging your children, I'm trying not to. But this is so hard to see, Father, and my very soul is tired. Please, give me the strength to continue Your work. Let me remember You, and why this day is so special."

As he continues to sit and pray, Andrew suddenly feels a sense of peace surround him. Opening his eyes, he turns his head to see a woman standing beside his bench, a long black woolen coat wrapped around her petite frame. Her flowing auburn hair is tucked protectively under a purple hat, and her cheeks are tinged pink from the cold. Andrew meets her warm brown eyes for just a moment before dropping his head once again, but he pats the empty seat beside him in invitation.

Though he continues to try to avoid eye contact, he can no longer contain himself when he feels Monica's arms wrap around him. He collapses into her embrace, burying his head into the crevice of her neck, and can no longer hold back the tears as sobs wrack through his exhausted body. Monica rubs Andrew's back soothingly as he releases his grief, her other hand running tenderly through his soft hair.

After several minutes, Monica feels Andrew finally calm beneath her. Eventually, he pulls away, but reaches for her hand and keeps it clasped tightly within his own.

"I'm sorry about that, Monica," he whispers tiredly. He hadn't meant to break down, and certainly hadn't wanted for her to witness that. But he has always felt so safe and loved in her embrace, and he had needed to release some of the tension he was feeling. He knows that Monica is waiting for an explanation, but he can't bring himself to share this burden with her.

"Andrew?" Monica encourages patiently, her Irish lilt like music to his ears after so long apart.

Shaking his head, Andrew tries to stop a new surge of tears from escaping. "I can't, Monica. I just can't," he offers simply, his voice hoarse and gravely.

"Andrew, I can see how much pain you're in. I can't bear to watch you suffering alone. Please, talk to me. You've always been my rock to lean on. Let me be here for you."

Andrew manages a weak smile, and draws her hand up to his mouth for a kiss, before pulling her into his arms and placing more gentle kisses on the top of her head. He rocks them both back and forth slowly- all gestures meant to comfort himself every bit as much as her.

Sighing, he rest his chin atop her head, Monica listening to Andrew's steady heartbeat as he searches for the right words to say. He isn't sure he should tell her about all of the terrible things he's seen lately, her young and sensitive soul still innocent to many of the horrors human beings are capable of. He doesn't want to ruin her Christmas, either. But he knows he needs to confide at least some of his troubles in her.

"I've missed you, Angel," he finally begins. "The last few weeks have been… busy. Christmas, it should be a time of joy. But lately, I've had to take so many souls Home- people who were homeless and alone and froze to death, and people who died when their homes caught fire or in car accidents or from drugs. Some were murdered in greed, all in the name of money and meaningless possessions. And there were so many people who even took their own lives. It all just hurts so much to witness, Baby." By now, the tears are once again flowing from Andrew's eyes, but he doesn't even bother to wipe them away as he continues, "And there were too many souls that I couldn't bring Home. They turned away from God and I couldn't save them."

Monica tightens her hold around Andrew and looks up into his eyes, her own eyes and heart weeping for all he's had to see.

"Oh, Andrew! I'm so sorry you've had to witness all of this. I can imagine how broken your heart must be- I can feel it. But you have to realize the peace you brought to those souls, and remember the happiness on their faces when they first entered Heaven. And even the ones you couldn't take Home, Andrew, you were still there for them. Because of you, they weren't alone in their final moments of life. But you can't make their choices for them."

Exhaling and rubbing the moisture from his eyes, Andrew nods his head. "I know that, Angel, I do. But…" he pauses, trying to find the words to express his emotions. "Humans pray to God to protect them and care for them. And He answers those prayers- He sends His angels to watch over them. But, Monica, there were so many people out there who needed watching over! I just… I just feel like I couldn't do enough. Maybe some of them could have been spared; maybe I could have done more-" Andrew trails off as Monica presses her finger against his lips, ending his train of thought before it can carry him too far down the track of self-loathing.

"Stop right there, Andrew. I know, and God knows, and even you know, that you did everything you could to help those people. And you did help them! You were there to bring them peace in their final moments, so they wouldn't be alone. You were there to end their suffering, and bring them Home to the arms of the Father." Seeing Andrew nod his head reluctantly, Monica continues before he can argue. "Yes, there are so many souls who need watching over- tonight and every day of the year. Every human on Earth needs watching over! But Andrew, we can't do it all. We may be angels, but we're not God. He watches over everyone, and He sends us to help a few of them. And you were there, and I know you gave your whole heart to help each and every one of those humans. I know how much it must hurt to see so much violence and pain. But we can only help them through it, Andrew, we can't take it away. The Father is crying right along with you, to see His children in so much pain, to see them abuse His gift of free will. But that is what is happening here, and we can't interfere. We can only be there with them to tell them how much God loves them, and the rest is up to them and up to the Father. You have done your job, Andrew, and you have done it well. I'm proud of you, and I know the Father is proud of you as well."

Once again, Andrew cannot resist pulling Monica against his chest and holding her tightly. After a while, he pulls back just enough to press a firm kiss against her forehead before gazing into her eyes, which are now as moist as his own. "Tell me, Angel," Andrew whispers, "How is it that you always know exactly the words I need to hear to heal my broken heart?"

Smiling shyly, Monica never lets her eyes waver from his as she answers, "Because your heart is a part of my own, Andrew."

Neither angel is willing to leave the other's embrace for a long time, but a dripping atop her head eventually draws Monica's attention upward, and Andrew follows her gaze to the still melting icicle above them. As its cold drops fall from the branch above straight onto Monica's now upturned nose, Andrew can't help but laugh for the first time in weeks. This causes Monica to giggle as well, until both angels are doubled over in laughter.

Several minutes later, as their breathing slowly calms, they look back up at the icicle, noticing something on the branch beside it that neither had seen at first. A small plant with green leaves and berries of red and white hangs from the branch by a red velvet bow, directly over the angel's heads.

"Mistletoe," whispers Monica as she looks briefly into Andrew's eyes, then lowers her head shyly.

Andrew stares from the suggestive plant to Monica's timid form. He knows what this particular human custom entails, and he knows why Monica is suddenly acting so shy. He doesn't remember seeing the mistletoe before, and wonders if this is a sign from the Father. Angels don't always take part in human traditions, but Andrew suddenly finds himself wanting to honor this one. As he gazes at the beautiful angel before him- one with a magnificent heart and soul who makes him a better angel just by knowing her- he knows that this is the perfect opportunity to do something he has wanted to do for a long time now.

Taking her chin gently in his hands, he tilts her head up so she can meet his eyes.

"Thank you, Baby. For always being there for me, for loving me- for just being you. I love you, Monica," he whispers, seriousness and truth evident in his choked voice. He waits until he sees her smile in response, and then slowly leans in toward her, tilting his head slightly. As his lips brush gently against hers, Andrew feels the last remnants of pain leave his heart, replaced with unbound love for the amazing angel still locked in his embrace.

And as the two angels continue to revel in their kiss, Andrew suddenly finds his faith in the holiday season restored. Christmas must indeed be a season for miracles- because he holds a miracle in his arms right now. Monica, with her devout friendship, her unwavering loyalty, her unconditional love, is the greatest miracle the Father could ever bless him with.

The End


End file.
